


Shadows and Smudge

by justanexercise



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanexercise/pseuds/justanexercise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their latest number leads them to a live drawing studio. There's no question why Root's there with a robe on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Smudge

 

“Finch,” John says, turning on his comm link. “Our number’s going into an abandoned building.”

Shaw brushes past him, rubbing her hands together in excitement and to stave off the cold. “Finally, something interesting.”

They wait a few moments before following the number, Sandra Barnes, a young college student, into the building. Shaw and John back pedal when they go in, seeing a few more people loitering around the well-lit building. A few men with long trimmed beard, others with grandpa style glasses and thousand dollar shoes.

“The building you’re in isn’t abandoned,” Finch says.

“We got that, there are more hipsters here than homeless,” Shaw says, taking in the scene. She walks around the edges, observing the group of people and runs her hands on the counter, picking up a charcoal stick.

“Yes, it’s an old community center, currently being renovated. The interior is almost finished so they’re holding classes there as a preview.”

“Looks like an art class,” John says. He points his chin towards the easels and the people situated in a semi-circle around a raised platform.

Shaw grabs the supplies off the table, following their number and setting up next to her while John does the same. She carefully clips the paper onto the easel and arranges her charcoal sticks.

“You draw, Shaw?” John asks. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

“Some of us are more cultured than others,” Shaw says, looking around her. “This isn’t going to be a bowl of fruit.”

John raises an eyebrow. “I think I can handle it.”

He definitely speaks too soon. The model comes back from her break, back against them as she stands on the platform in her robe.

Shaw narrows her eyes. No. It – oh no. It definitely is.

Root drops her robe in the middle of the room, exposing her nude body for everyone to see. Well only her back, but she’s definitely naked. She sits down, staying still and the room gets to work.

Except John and Shaw.

Shaw throws John a pointed glare when he continues to stare at Root’s back.

John swallows and concentrates on his blank paper. “Finch, make sure I have Gionvanni’s finest suit at my funeral.”

“Mr. Reese? What’s wrong?”

“Root,” Shaw growls.

“Ms. Groves? She’s with you now?”

John exhales through his nose, his hand wavering on the paper. “I’ve got eyes on her.”

Shaw’s eyes throw imaginary knives sharp enough to impress a butcher.

“She’s the nude model,” John explains.

A long silence through the comm link, enough for John and Shaw to suspect Finch disconnected them.

“Mr. Reese, there’s a high probability you won’t have a body at your funeral,” Finch solemnly says. “I’ll check Ms.  Barnes’s background more thoroughly. If Ms. Groves is there…she might be in more danger than we initially suspected.”

-

Shaw corners Root at the end of the session while John keeps an eye on the number.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shaw hisses.

“She wanted me here,” Root says, pulling on her jacket. “I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for art.”

“Root.”

Root tilts her head to the side, gesturing to their number. “Sandra Barnes. Twenty two years old, lives at home with her ailing mother and attending community college. Working two jobs to save money to transfer to a better college.”

“Yea, we know all that already.”

“She also stumbled on one of her physics professors selling schematics to known terrorists. She’s right in the middle of relevant and irrelevant. The Machine thought you might need an extra hand on deck.”

“And the nude modeling?”

“An appreciation for the fine arts.”

Shaw’s eyes do their customary roll and she shakes her head. “What now?”

“Now,” Root says, pulling Shaw away from their number down the corridor. “We get to take out the team sent to kill her and John can take Sandra to safety.”

“I agree with Ms. Groves,” Finch says.

“How many?”

“Six man team, highly trained,” Root answers.

Shaw pulls her gun from her coat and frowns. Only one clip of ammo.

Root ducks into the janitor’s closet and throws a bag at Shaw. “Fourth floor, third window from the right,” she says before pulling two guns from her waistband and running off on the opposite direction.

Following Root’s instructions, Shaw unzips the bag and grins. “AS-50?”

“Have fun sweetie,” Root says.

Shaw hums, setting up her rifle and stroking it. She sets her sights on the moving car and shoots out the tires first. She takes out the group scrambling out of the over-turned car before they can even yell for help.

-

“Sameen,” Root calls out as she kicks the door shut. “I got some…” She stops in the middle of Shaw’s loft and tilts her head to the side in confusion. “Maybe I should’ve bought s’mores and not Thai.”

Shaw pokes at the fire with a BBQ fork and squeezes another stream of lighter fluid in. The flames erupt for a second before descending back to a slow simmer.

Wrapping her arms around Shaw’s stomach, Root kisses her cheek. She raises an eyebrow at the contents of said fire. “I wanted to keep one.”

“They all sucked.”

“I’m sure one of them was good enough, oh that one.” Root takes the BBQ fork and briefly takes an appreciative look before the drawing of her descends into flames. “Did you steal all of their drawings of me?”

Shaw clenches her jaw and slams the lid onto the BBQ grill. Brushing away from Root, Shaw downs half a beer and pensively picks at the label. “I could do better.”

Root’s eyebrow raises in surprise and her lips morph into a grin. “You want to draw me like –“

“Don’t.”

Pouting at being cutoff, Root shucks off her jacket and lies on the couch, exaggerating her pose. “My great-grandmother was French.”

Shaking her head, Shaw takes out her own easel from the corner of the room and sets it up in front of Root. All her supplies are already on the table, totally prepared for an art session.

“Take off your clothes,” Shaw orders.

Root takes a moment to process that request, slowly unbuttoning her shirt to make a show of it; except Shaw isn’t biting. She preps instead, not even looking at Root. Root shrugs and quickly gets naked instead of the drawn out teasing. No point without an audience.

“Is this how you want me Sameen?” Root asks, stretching her arms above her head over the couch and crossing her legs. “Or how about this?” She lays on her stomach. “No?” Root sits up and crosses her legs, putting on a pout.

That earns Root another customary eye roll from Shaw. Shaw grabs Root by the ankles and drags her until her thighs come off the side of the couch.

“Weird position to paint me in Sameen,” Root says, leaning on her forearms to look at Shaw.

“Cause I’m not painting you yet.” Shaw pushes apart Root’s legs and buries her face in between them.

Root moans, her arms failing her and dropping down onto the couch. Shaw starts driving her wild, hard and fast with her tongue, never letting Root get used to the rhythm. She desperately clings onto Shaw’s head, trying to move Shaw where she needs her most. Shaw ignores her.

“Sameen.”

Shaw hums, feeling Root twitch under her mouth. She hums again and lets her hands wander across Root’s body, paying attention to the sensitive skin on her lower stomach.

“Sam,” Root groans, her hips pumping up into Shaw’s mouth.

Root’s thighs clench around Shaw’s head, holding her there. Her mouth falls open, groaning, fingernails scratching down the fabric of the couch. Root settles down her high, smiling serenely and struggling to find her breath. Her pleasure-addled brain finally catches up when Shaw pushes her fingers into her, carefully searching for the best spot.

“Fuck,” Root hisses, legs uselessly flinging into the air.

She stares at Shaw who gives her a mischievous smirk before using her thumb to caress her clit. Root manages to keep her eyes open but can barely focus on Shaw’s face. “Yes,” Root mumbles. She’s so agreeable right now. She doesn’t even know what she’s agreeing to, only that she has to say it. It works, Shaw rubs faster and faster. Root arches off the couch and opens her mouth in a silent scream.

All the while, Shaw watches and waits for the right time. Root’s muscles are just starting to relax. Shaw presses down on her lower stomach and adds another finger, thrusting into her with the force of her entire arm. Root stops breathing for a few seconds, clenching around Shaw’s fingers. Shaw flexes her fingers inside, restarting Root’s brain.

With a choked sob, Root sucks in a breath and moans. She grabs at Shaw’s wrist, forcing her to go faster and faster.

“You wanna come?” Shaw asks, slowing down.

Root growls, digging her nails into Shaw’s skin.

“Yes?” Shaw prompts.

Root nods eagerly. “Yes,” she repeats like a mantra.

Shaw grins, pushing Root along the couch with every thrust of her arm until Root’s head is pressed against the other side, her long legs splayed across the length of it. Hovering over her, tries to kiss Root, but with Root’s uneven breaths, they only manage to brush their lips together.

Root’s eyes glaze over. Shaw feels Root come on her hand. Her muscles seizing up and Root getting so wet.

“Fuck,” Root says. She hugs Shaw to her chest through her orgasm and moans directly into Shaw’s ear. “Fuck,” she says again, slumping down. She twitches when Shaw removes her fingers and doesn’t even have the strength to open her eyes to watch Shaw lick her wet fingers.

“That’ll do,” Shaw says, climbing off her.

“Hmm?”

Shaw wipes her hand on a towel and sits down in front of her easel. She picks up her charcoal stick, sketching Root’s thoroughly debauched form onto paper.


End file.
